Birds and Britain
by SiennaBrown
Summary: Yet another magical friend has come to bother England  In an alternate universe , but this one is in need of some serious help. T for violence. No pairings in mind yet, if ever.
1. Chapter 1

The blond nation gently shut his bedroom door, willing this stressful day to be over. First Alfred came, begging to borrow the TV due to Tony having broken the other one. Then that stupid frog dropped in, rambling about monetary shite on his day off! England was on his final straw when Spain wandered through the front door, blathering on about how he was so terribly wronged way back in the era of no one giving a shit. Green eyes opened, and Arthur tried to smooth the angry wrinkles out of his forehead. It had been a stressful day, and all he wanted to do was-  
>"Hello, Arthur." Pinching his eyebrows together in frustration, the nation glared at the shadowed speaker. "Not you again. I'm not in the mood to deal with blithering idiots." The man shifted, stepping into a pool of light cast by the lamp. England resisted shuddering. This particular 'imaginary friend,' as the other nations referred to them, was more grotesque than the others, and was certainly more desperate. The thing was here for only a few hours at a time, but he came every day and wouldn't take no for an answer. Fabric rustled as the man resettled, greasy black hair dripping like oil over his face and down his shoulders. Shiny, black, soulless eyes stared forever into Britain's brain. Blackened skin faded to pale flesh at his wrists, flesh that was pockmarked with disease and torment. The man's dark jeans were ripped and stained, and stank. He positively reeked of disease and of blood. Dark wings trembled, threatening to fall off of the man's bare back, which was traced with scars. Patterns, really. Delicate lines swirled into each other, curving with each muscle hidden beneath the skin, ending at the nape of his neck and just before the small of his back.<br>A slight clicking noise drew Arthur's wicked green eyes back to the man's face. Pointed ears poked out from in between strands of sickly long hair. Dark eyebrows faded away into darkened and mottled skin. And the thing that was the most creepy, even more so than the never-ending pools of black rimmed with wrinkled lids, was the protruding beak. Literally, a bird's beak. The man opened it, revealing the only hint of color besides gross, and it was still revolting. A flaming tongue resided in its shell, forked at the end and covered with sores. _How can he even talk?_  
>"I don't care if you don't feel like it. I need help and you're the only one who can see me. Sit down and hear me out for once." A chair found its way behind the blond, and he sat down, feeling nauseous from the godforsaken smell that permeated the now cramped room. "Look. There's no way I'd be able to help you, alright? I said no the last few times as well, which is about all I remember besides your stink. Please, just leave me alone." A swishing noise alerted Britain to the man's movement, and he looked up in time to come face to face with him. "It's not like you ever cared to listen. All you do is tell me to go away, but whenever anyone else needs your help you're all ears. Do I not count? I'm begging, okay? Please hear me out and I'll leave you alone if you decide to help me. If not, then I will make your life a living Hell. Please?" England frowned.<br>"That doesn't sound very promising either way. And I'm already living in Hell." Those eyes seemed to roll, but as they were completely black it was sort of hard to tell. The man leaned in, clamping his pock-marked hands onto the armrests of the chair.

"Ha. If this is Hell, then I want to live here. Will you listen or should I just jump in with the fire and brimstone right now?" The blond leaned away from the beak, gathering his response and trying to gain some leverage.

"Fine. I'll listen. I may or may not help you; it all depends, really. Let's start with your name first, shall we?"

_ A name, huh? It's been awhile since I even used one. When I go back to that stagnant place I use a number... The souls of innocents are captured by servants of the Dark and brought to this strange cave-like structure that is as dank and ill-lit as it is searing hot and illuminated. You can see as far as you want, but at the same time your field of vision only goes to the end of your nose. Time is distorted there, at once day and night. I was one of twenty in a group, and we quarried stone, farther underground than any man with wings should be. There was a collapse; dust and grit flew everywhere, and so did my acquaintances. I awoke and found that I was trapped in a hole, deprived of air with only one way to go. So I dug, ignoring the aches and pains of an malnourished body. Ignoring the scraping of bitten fingernails on rock and dirt. Ignoring the blood that flowed, copper in my mind's eye. But I'm stuck. Encased by rubble, never going to die in the menacing dark because of the magic that binds us all to the stone and the heat and the cold of that place. Where is it, even? It's been months, and my broken hands still scrabble at their hopeless task, trying and failing to free me from my rock tomb. But a name? What was my number? I can't remember... Being away from roll call must have helped my tired brain to forget. _

England stared at the foul abomination. He had been quiet for a while, gathering his thoughts or maybe calling on some sort of dark magic. The guy certainly looked the part. Arthur sat back, waiting for a response.

"Faolán. My name is Faolán. I think. I honestly haven't used it in years." The dark-haired man inched away, giving the nation some space to breathe. When he had made it across the room, the blond listened to the quiet and gruesome story that weaved its way between them, filling the air and pulling at England's heartstrings, not that he would admit to having any.

"So... If you're stuck under a pile of rubble... How are you here?" Faolán shook his head.

"I'm not sure. I just looked up one time and was here. All I could do was ask for help. That's all I want. To be free from wherever that is and go on my merry way."

"How do you think that I would be able to help you in any way, shape, or form? I have work to do, and you're a complete stranger."

The bird-man's hands balled into fists, "so you won't help me?" The words were dangerously acidic, hinting at his fear and displeasure. "So you're going to leave me to scrape around in that airtight place, asphyxiating and digging forever? You're more heartless than the people who brought me there. I don't even want your-" The blond stood up, smirking.

"I never said that I wouldn't help you." Faolán blinked, beak clicking angrily.

"Well, what _were_ you saying then? That there's a price? I don't have anything to give you in return except my thanks."

"You are an A-class dimwit. Everything has a price, otherwise nothing would get done. I'll think about it. You won't die for a while yet, correct?"

"My body won't."

"Then you'll be fine. I'll have a decision later." England blinked, sure that he was seeing things. Faolán was literally fading into the shadows, and that's when the blond noticed the lack of fingernails, almost as if they had been ripped off. Then the bird-man was gone, leaving small, coppery streaks across the floorboards and into the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a dark and stormy night- _alright, that was too cliche_. The torrential rain fell from the sky like bullets from a sub-machine gun. _Much better._ The ship creaked like broken floorboards, and Captain Kirkland knew that it was going to go down. The ocean tried to suck the damaged vessel into the icy dark water, and the blond turned to face the only person left on the ship.  
>"It was nice knowing you. I wish things could have gone better." He should have expected the punch to the face- he had just conquered the man's armada- but, honestly, with the ship in such a condition he had been hoping for a, "Yeah, me too." <em>Idiot.<em> The mast pinwheeled ominously as England slid across the deck, and under the balustrade, and into the waiting arms of the ocean.  
>It was impossibly cold, and with the way the currents were going, the nation couldn't go up for air. His lungs burned and began to scream for the oxygen that they lacked. Waterlogged clothes were dragging him down, but the blond's numb fingers couldn't get a sure grip on any of the buttons and buckles that were so tightly closed. Arthur forced his eyes open, even though the briny depths stung at the sensitive tissue. <em>Which way was up?<em> Light seemed to filter towards him from everywhere, but beyond that there was nothing. Dark shapes floated around, and Captain Kirkland hoped that they weren't his crew members. As the British Empire, he couldn't die. _But there was never a time before or after that I had wanted so desperately to do so._  
>Arthur sat up in his bed, breathing heavily. That was the seventh time in two days that the dream had occurred. More like a nightmare. He rubbed his face, and noted that the slender fingers were trembling. This was ridiculous. He had only taken one more day to come around, after the second time that nightmare came to him, but Faolán hadn't come back. England wasn't going to admit that he was worried about the mangy bird-thing, but he did want to give his affirmative to the helping idea. The blond didn't know where to begin, or if the place that had been described even existed in this universe, which it probably didn't.<br>Casting the warm blankets aside, the nation got dressed. At three in the morning.  
>"What a great way to start my day," he muttered, not pleased with the fact that sleeping would be impossible right now. Arthur had a meeting with Alfred today, and without the proper amount of sleep that American would get dreadfully annoying. Opting to wear a t-shirt instead of the usual button-down (<em>no<em>, the dream did _not_ get to him), the blond drifted into his study, where he kept all of those large tomes for magic and for work. Had he read about something that could help? Flicking through his mental filing cabinet, the nation felt that he was forgetting something important.  
>Going through all of those books took quite a few hours, and, after abruptly canceling his meeting with Alfred, England knew that he was onto something. There was a demon that stole the souls of people who had done no wrong, and used them as slave labor so that he could live a life of comfort at the expense of these poor unfortunate souls. But then again, there were actually three of those types of demons, all very powerful. Arthur gathered his thoughts, preparing for the undoubtedly crazy amounts of magic that he would need to use to travel to these places, and making a mental checklist of everything that might come in handy. The blond walked around his house, collecting the necessary items- food water and such- and pondering which demonic place to travel to first. The chances of picking the wrong place were not in the country's favor, and he didn't want to be killed right off the bat.<br>With his mind made up, and a small pack of essentials, Britain eyed the pentacle before him and called the relevant spells to mind. Closing his green eyes in order to better concentrate, the blond felt power begin to rush through him as the words of the incantation spilled over his lips. When things had settled back down, Arthur opened his eyes and found that the simple landscape of his study had melted into stiff twigs and rocky ground. Blackened trees jutted towards the sky, seemingly trying to stab the grey mass with their brittle branches. As the sorcerer had expected, there were no sounds or any other sign of life besides the dead trees. Hefting the bag onto his shoulder, England started walking. His boots kicked up dust clouds that swirled around his legs, threatening to make him trip.  
>Using black magic to mask his presence, the man shielded his eyes from the glaring light that seemed to come from the roiling grey clouds that drifted ever closer the farther he went. Making a mental map, Arthur continued on his way, keeping an eye out for the cave in question.<br>Something prickled in his magical peripheral vision, and the nation stilled, waiting for another blip on the radar. A feeling of uneasiness washed over the blond, and the clouds that had been above earlier were suddenly mingling with the dust below his feet. Alarm bells rang in his head as a dark shape unfolded, masked by twisting clouds of fog and faded dust. Vivid, predatory, yellow eyes glowed in the misty surroundings, and a serpentine body unfurled, coils of monster looped across England's field of vision, quickly closing him into a circle of earth. Swinging his pack around, the green-eyed man prepared to face his foe. Spirals of blinding white light formed at Arthur's fingertips, and slowly ran threads up to his elbows.  
>The swirling clouds were swept away by the giant serpent's first attack, which was a wild swing with one of eight tails. Britain dodged the threat easily, and launched a counterattack of white magic. The bolts glanced off of the oily black scales, but they left trails of silver in their wakes. <em>Good, I've drawn blood. Perhaps I can make it out of here ali-<em> That thought was cut short by another tail twining around the man's ankle and whipping him into the air. Double checking that the black bag wasn't spewing objects all over creation, the blond let loose a wave of fire that scorched the ground in a twenty-meter arc, which also included most of the writhing snake-thing. It belched smoke and practically screamed, sound streaming from the ruined scales and spiky mouth. As Arthur neared earth, he felt a warmth spread over his chest, and instead of landing gracefully on his feet, the blond was thrown violently into a tree. Spiny branches broke on contact with his skin, and a strange hissing laughter rose from the steaming reptile.  
>"<em>Ahaha! You sssink that a mere humanoid can defeat me~? How sssilly<em>." The multi-tailed snake slithered closer, tails wrapping around the man's torso again as he struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him by his earlier fall. The strangling feelings of fear and hopelessness rose from his heart and trickled towards his brain. Or that may have been his lunch, seeing as the country was suddenly upside-down.  
>"<em>A ssshame, truly... The massster had been hoping to ussse you in an exsssperiment one day<em>." England's bony fingers scrabbled for a purchase on the slick and bloody surface of the now-quicksilver scales that kept his feet from the ground. Green eyes shot to the messenger bag that was pressed against his side. Within it, there were small glass globes that contained the massive amounts of power that elementals contained. Shaky fingers fumbled with the gods-damned zipper, and as the tails tensed to fling the blond again, his fist clamped around one of the fragile orbs. As the scaly tails let fly, Arthur chucked the transparent ball into the abyss of the serpentine mouth that continued to cackle at the blond's demise.  
>As the country touched ground (albeit on his side and not in any way painlessly or gracefully), the snake-like monster was quickly ripped open by the torrent of wind that erupted from its insides. Trying to make mental notes of injuries, Arthur wiped his silver-coated hands on the surrounding dust piles. <em>Nothing but minor cuts and some bruises. I ought to be more careful...<em> He gently sat up, and quadruple-checked his bag to make sure it was in one piece. Having finished that, Britain sighed, and asked himself again, for quite possibly the eightieth time, why he had decided to rescue the odd bird-man-thing. There was no rational reasoning behind this life-threatening decision.  
>Sighing again, the man stood, and walked straight into Francis.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

"Ah, Arthur, what a pleasant surprise to find you here! I never thought that you of all people would have cast the spell that brought me to this dreadfully dusty and boring place. Just kidding, I knew it was you! Who else casts spells that don't work? Ah, but why such a silly face, Britain~?" Arthur closed his mouth, and the disbelief and shock were quickly disguised by disgust. How the Hell had that gods-damned frog gotten caught in the spell?  
>"Oh, but Arthur, let me tell you something! I found this frightfully dark cave, and there were some very disturbing noises resounding from within! Are you here to do something about that?" Rubbing his tense face, Britain sighed. The stupid Frenchman was here now, may as well get him to lead the way.<br>"France, what direction was the cave?" After receiving a pointed finger and several other comments about the dreary landscape, England was on his way to the cave, trying to get Francis off his back, literally at times. France was poking all of the blond's buttons, as usual, and it was rather frustrating. After a few minutes of walking, Arthur had had quite enough of this nonsense, "Francis, will you please just go away? You'll just hang on me and chatter until you've ruined any chance that I-" His sentence was interrupted by a slight humming on his magic radar, and he quieted, trying to discern the direction that the blip had come from.  
>"Aw, but Britain, we're here already! And listen, that's definitely the sound of pain and suffering. You go first~!" And with a shove, the shorter nation stumbled into the darkened, claustrophobic space.<br>"Damn it, you ass! Wait, Francis? Where are you?" The other nation had pulled a Houdini, slipping away while his friend (in the loosest definition possible) was recovering from the ungentle push. England sighed, hoping that France would just go away and stay away, for once. Calling upon his magic, the sorcerer lit a small ball of fire and set it to hovering slightly above his head, and out of hair-singeing reach. None of the outside light found its way into the darkened, stony corridor, but the blond hesitated.  
>Again, Arthur was unsure of his reasoning. Was it truly prudent to go around saving demon-looking things just because they had sob backstories? His thin fingers resettled the black bag, and he set one foot in front of the other. It was entirely foolhardy, something that only America would do, if he weren't so damned scared of monsters! He stopped again, and his radar pinged again. Quieting his breath, the nation tried to figure out why it was only every so often that-<br>"Checkmate~!" Britain was only ever so slightly able to dodge the ensuing attack, and yet again wondered why he was putting his neck out for a stranger. Preparing a spell to counter-attack, the blond stopped short. What had been Francis earlier was now a morphed mass of blobby proportions, arms and hands sticking out every which way while attempting to balance on two very skinny legs that constantly twitched. The monster continued to wear the Frenchman's face, albeit rather distorted, as if in pain. Arthur swallowed, and let the spell loose, only to have it wash off of the thing in pale wisps.  
>"Dumbass magician, black magic won't work~! Now be a good little nation and let me eat you!" The blob lunged, and in the cramped space, it was impossible to evade the body slam. A chill went up England's spine as he felt the incredible mass wriggle against his skin, and multiple blips went off on his radar. Calling upon white magic this time (which was more taxing, but infinitely more effective), the nation felt his fingertips begin to burn with the energy. Leaning as far away from the demon as was humanly possible, what with being squished between it and the rocky wall, Britain let the glowing orb loose, and had a mental victory dance as it hit not-Francis square on the nose, abruptly melting a hole in the middle of its head.<br>It squealed, and fumbled backwards, tripping over its own spindly legs and the stoney ground. The cave exploded with light, and the demon disintegrated, setting a river of devoured souls to splash out of the entrance and flow into the grey sky.  
>"<em>My siblings will find you, Arthur. They'll know what to do!<em>" The voice was a whisper, and soon the light dimmed back down to normal. Britain sat down, well, it was more of a legs collapsing underneath of him thing, but either way it meant that his butt was on the ground.  
>"Why am I doing this?" At this point, the man just wanted to go home. Heaving himself back up, the blond snagged a twig and prepared the pentacle to return home. But what to do after this? <em>Should I just stop now?<em> England sighed, deciding that he would just sleep on it until he recovered. Chanting the spell, Arthur closed his eyes and was transported back to his disheveled study.


	4. Chapter 4

_He hasn't arrived yet... Will he even come? He never said yes to my proposal. Would he really just leave me here? _Pale and broken fingers lay useless in the mud and stones. Black eyes stared longingly at crevices in the rocks, small cracks that showed no light but had the promise of oxygen far beyond. His beak clicked feebly, and Faolán felt his chest get even more tight. _I guess he's not coming for me. How long has it been? I haven't been able to get back to Arthur's place... I honestly don't even have the energy to move. _There was no air to breathe, even, so the bird-man was literally doing nothing.  
>Clattering sounded above the dark-haired man's head, and his eyes shifted to look at the rocky ceiling of his tomb. They had cleared a walkway and were reopening the tunnel, despite its instability. Faolán furrowed his brow, lost in thought. Without air, there was no way for his dry throat to attempt calling out. He had no energy for excessive movement, so trying to bash the rocks in was just as stupid an idea as when he had first gotten stuck in this godforsaken hole.<br>"There were supposed to be three guys in here when the collapse happened. Where's the last body?" _They're... looking for me? I wonder if I'm to be punished..._ The overlord was prone to hurting his underlings for no reason, so it wasn't too far out of the ballpark. _Arthur... Please find me!_

After weeks out at sea, Captain Kirkland was sick of the sun, and particularly tired of the ocean. There was no deus ex machina to save him, and no ships had sailed by (although as a known pirate, they would have killed him immediately after identifying him, so perhaps it was a good thing). The blond had managed to shed some of his heavy clothing, but there was still no land in sight. Britain floated along on the water, painfully hungry and thirsty. _What I would have given for land back then. Just dry land, and water..._ The nation bobbed along, wondering if he should even bother trying to stay afloat. Green eyes closed, and he felt the sun's rays dig into his skin. _How did I stay sane back then? There was nothing but those damned blue waves and the accursed blue sky. _The current dragged his practically lifeless body whichever way it pleased, and the Captain hardly noticed when his hands slowly dragged through a sand bar. It was a miracle that nothing had eaten the blond, considering all of the folklore involving terrible sea-monsters.  
><em>Wait, that was sand under my back, not ocean!<em> Jackknifing into a sitting position, Arthur's eyes drank in the surrounding scenery. White sand met teal ocean in a dance of foam. Pale grey rocks seemed to tumble from the emerald-bright green grass that started further up the slope. Leafy bushes jutted out from in between the rocks. The island echoed with the sounds of wild animals, bugs humming around as birds called him deeper into the shade of some tall trees. _I had been saved, and there was no measurable amount of relief. I was so happy that at last I had everything that I needed..._

Opening his bright green eyes, and blinking against the brighter sunlight that filtered across his bedroom, Arthur sat up. Sure, his time as a stranded captain was over, but didn't everyone deserve a chance to be saved? Tossing the warm covers aside, the blond let his legs hang over the edge of the bed. It had admittedly been a while since the nation had let his thoughts wander to Faolán's predicament. Three, four days, maybe, since he had returned from the demon-lands. Why was he so wishy-washy about this? Just because the guy looked evil, he was suddenly ready to not help? Just because he had no reason, he wasn't going to do anything for a being in need? _I'm pathetic._ England stood up, resolve back in place. Faolán needed his help, and the nation would fulfill that wish or die trying. It wasn't right to knowingly leave a person in need without doing anything!  
>After dressing and repacking his handy-dandy black messenger bag, Britain was ready to begin the incantations. Double-checking his pentacle for mistakes and deeming it perfect, the sorcerer closed his eyes and focused, weaving the words into the traveling spell. After all, he had already defeated the one cave, right?<br>He was not expecting the ambush that he literally walked straight into. Demons of all sorts sprang out from behind boulders and dead trees, grabbing his limbs and ripping cloth. The blond fought as best as he could, trying to keep them off and failing miserably. Shouting spells at them and keeping his bag as close as possible, Arthur suddenly felt as though he was looking through a long tunnel. The demonlings faded away, and the only thing left was a blond humanoid. And then there was only darkness.  
>"So, boss, what're we gonna do with him?" The blond glared at the ratty speaker.<br>"Shut up, dipshit. We were told to bring him to Brother, so that's what we'll do. Oh, and throw his man-purse into the river. Brother would be angry if he had any nasty surprises up his sleeve."

_This is a weird dream..._ Arthur looked about, seeing only rocks and darkness. As his eyes adjusted, the man realized that the body he was inhabiting was not his own. _Very different than normal..._ And then the blond understood whose body it was. _Faolán!_ He tried to bold upright, but the large boulders above simply knocked him back down.  
>"Jeeze, calm down, will ya? I know you can't feel anything right now, but that really hurt!" The pale hands moved, covering the spot that had been hit. <em>O-oh, sorry...<em> "Apology accepted. And you aren't dreaming, idiot." He blinked, colors becoming slowly more distorted. _I'm not? Well, okay, I can see that. Er... What now? And hey, where are you even? You had said that you were trapped by a demon, and then completely failed to mention which demon that was! _Faolán's beak clicked as he thought, "sorry again. But you had never actually told me that you would help, y'know. I might have been more willing to tell you details if I'd had a straight answer." _Now you're just being silly. Besides, I was ambushed! That was completely unfair!_ The bird-man rolled his eyes, and Arthur was able to see more of the surrounding rocks. They were certainly stuck here, after all. _And how the bloody Hell did I get here?_  
>"I don't know, why don't you ask yourself that? Also, if you could hurry up with that saving thing, it would be much appreciated. I overheard some implings chatting it up above me earlier, and they said that I would be severely punished for the cave-in, even though it wasn't my fault." Britain mentally huffed, <em>you are really pushy for being a damsel in distress. My goodness, what am I supposed to do with you?<em>  
>"You're supposed to save me. And I'm not a girl!" Faolán crossed his arms, and some oily tendrils of hair flopped across his face. <em>Well, you're certainly acting like one! I'm pretty sure the attackers stole my bag, which will make saving you a bit difficult.<em> The pale hands brushed the black waves away. "Way to switch topics really fast! And why the heck would you need a bag in the first place?" Arthur felt his presence begin to fade as his mind was slowly drawn back to his own body. _Look, it had some useful items in it, or I wouldn't have bothered! Do you have a mental map of your location? If so, then give it over quickly, I'm being called back!_ The bird-man concentrated, quickly thinking about the layout of the mines.  
>"You'll have to get to the mines yourself, I don't remember the whole way down here. Just the mines. Thanks, by the way." <em>Yeah, yeah.<em> And with that, Faolán was left by himself.

The nation opened blurry eyes, still memorizing the mental map. He was aware of shapes and colors roiling around, but the man had no sense of hearing yet. Whatever spell had gotten him, it was a strong one.  
>"Is he awake yet? Brother said I couldn't touch him until he was awake. And I want grapes! I'm friggin' starved over here!" A red blob shuffled across the room.<br>"Yeah, boss, I got'cher stupid fruit!" Which was followed by a loud smacking noise. Arthur supposed his hearing was back online. Blinking a few times, the blond felt his vision come back as well, only to see a humanoid demon literally inhale a bunch of grapes.  
>"Ah~! So you're awake! Good, good good good~!" The demon sauntered over, and Britain let the author in him go wild. The demon looked like a model, with wide shoulders and lanky limbs. His blond hair was wavy, and pooled around his earlobes that sparkled with gold hoops. A narrow face poked out, with a straight nose and slightly pink lips that were still covered with grape juices. And his clothes... One would have to make a thousand dollars a day to wear what this thing had on. And then the nation was riveted to the man's eyes. The irises were white rimmed with dark green, and his pupils were slitted like a cat's.<br>"Who the Hell are you?" The demon put on a fake shocked face, "I'm so hurt, Arthur. You've never heard of the great Beauregard?" It was a really stupid thing to do, but in his defense, Britain was still slightly groggy from that gods-damned spell that they'd thrown on him.  
>The nation tried to mask it, but the snicker still escaped.<br>"You would dare to laugh at me? Oh, good, that means I'm justified to do this~!" And that was when red-hot pain erupted from England's side. It was only for a moment, but it left the green-eyed man gasping for air.  
>"Now tell me why you're here! I'm not going to accept anything that sounds stupid."<br>"Define... stupid." Arthur had the feeling that stupid was 'anything that involves selflessness' and thus he would have to think fast.  
>"Tell me your reason first." Green eyes glared at Beauregard (stupidest name in existence! Who the bloody heck names their child that?), "Well, I like to adjust my reasons when I find out that others find them stupid." Such backsassery earned him a smack to the face.<br>"Reason now, you'll find out the definition later." England glared again, cheek stinging.  
>"I'm helping a friend." Raucous laughter echoed from the other side of the room.<br>"Aw my gawd, boss, this guy must be some kinna dumbass! Really! Who the friggin' Hell goes awll the way to the demon lands for a _friend?_" Britain and Beauregard turned their heads to the insolent impling at the same time, focusing equally intent glares on it.  
>"R-right, boss, I'll shaddup nao."<br>"Good. Now, then, Arthur. I have a feeling that you aren't lying, which would be the definition of stupid from earlier, but perhaps you aren't telling the whole truth? What kind of friend? A girl? Oh, no wait, you couldn't be that type. Is it a boy?" Clapping his hands in eager anticipation, the demon pulled a chair up to Britain and sat down.  
>"Do tell, good sir." Arthur glared at the sparkling blond. "I'm not gay. I'm just trying to help a friend in need." Which earned him some more snickering from the imp. Making a mental note to blast the damn thing with an explosive spell later, England kept his trap shut.<br>"And what makes you think this friend is here?" The nation stared at the ceiling, tracing with his eyes the delicate patterns carved into the red-violet stone. The demon followed his gaze.  
>"That hand carved up there." Arthur nodded, "it's quite pretty."<br>"Took a dozen slaves to get that one done fast enough."  
>"Where would a demon keep his slaves, anyway?" After all, he was not in the right cave to be saving Faolán, but he could still help the poor souls who were here.<br>"Like I would be stupid enough to tell you that! If you're so concerned about your slave buddy, then you can try and die like all of the other 'heroes' who come through here." Green eyes blinked, the 'hero' statement making him realize that to come here, he had missed another meeting with Alfred. "Damn it all..."

Beauregard laughed. "my, my, whatever could be the problem?"

"Nothing, nothing at-" The heavy wooden door creaked open, making the blond nation clap his mouth shut.

"Brother, dearest! What brings you to my humble questioning chamber?" The lankier demon quaked, obviously scared of this 'brother' person. A darker humanoid entered the room. This demon wasn't so thin as the blond, or shiny, or even as tall, really. But he commanded attention.

Dusty, black work boots adorned large feet, covered by black slacks. A tight navy t-shirt clung to the copious amounts of muscle that sprawled over the man's chest, accentuating how fit he was. Straight brown hair fell into his eyes, but was cropped short in the back. Britain stared at the demon's face, noting a slight case of five 'o'clock shadow, and taking a particular interest in his silver eyes. Clearly, this demon was a lot stronger than the other one. Escape would be either extremely difficult or impossible.  
>"Brother, <em>dearest<em>, you may leave and take that driveling red pile of slime with you." The blond swallowed audibly, and waved a hand at his servant. They slunk out the door, quietly letting its wooden mass close behind them.  
>"And you, sorcerer. Why did you kill my younger sibling on the plains? And why have you come here armed to the teeth?" The demon's voice was impossibly deep, and seemed to fill the room with agitation.<br>"W-well, sir, uh-"  
>"Don't call me that. I'm Dante." Arthur felt his lungs stop working for a minute. Dante was known for literally ripping defenseless living creatures limb from limb. Humans, sorcerers, animals, and demons alike were targeted when things didn't go his way.<br>"Yes, of course, Dante." The blond felt all of the blood drain away from his face. "...He attacked me first. So it was all in self defense, really. And one c-can't very well g-go to-" Dante had sauntered closer, unnerving silver eyes never once having left the blond's green orbs.  
>"No, no, <em>do<em> go on." Britain swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry.  
>"I couldn't just waltz onto demon territory unarmed! That would be like walking straight into a nest of cobras while bum-naked." Alfred could attest to that. The boy had an inane fear of snakes for some reason.<br>"Of course. So, you decided to arm yourself, travel onto demon territory, and attempt to save your friend?" Yeah, he was actually doing something that stupid.  
>"Yes." Dante chuckled, something oddly not as sinister as the nation had previously expected.<br>"You sorcerers are all dumbasses. Are you going to try to save everyone? Because I'm sure my pouty little brother would not be pleased if you succeeded." Arthur nodded.

"I was going to, but now that I know you're here, I was hoping to just escape alive." Faolán wasn't here anyway.

"I was just on my way out, actually. If you do manage to unseat him, go ahead and kill him. I'm only here because the idiot had a collapse down in his mines and couldn't be bothered to oversee the reconstruction." Green eyes blinked at the receding figure.

"Y-you aren't here to kill me?" Rumbling laughter filled the room, causing Britain's ears to pop.  
>"If I was, your blood would be painting the walls right now. I release you from your bonds, and I leave you to your own devices. Oh, and some dumbass fished your man-purse out of the river. Other than being sopping wet, everything should still be inside." England's arms were suddenly free, but he didn't get his thin fingers up in time to catch his bag. Letting the comment about it being a man-purse go (he was really not going to win that argument, and it would probably end in death), the blond checked it over for damaged or missing items. Seeing that everything was intact, if completely soaked, the nation calmly resettled the strap on his shoulder.<p>

Green eyes set with determination, Arthur set out to find Beauregard (which was still a pretty stupid name).


	5. Chapter 5

"Who the bloody hell needs their home to be this complicated, anyhow!" Arthur had finally found Beauregard, just in time to lose him in this monstrous labyrinth! The blond wiped sweat from his brow, trying to track a demon in its own home must have been the stupidest idea the nation had ever had. Setting up a tracking spell (which could take many precious minutes), Britain felt his magical radar blip. Whatever was near him, it was large and powerful. Continuing to utter the spell, he dug through his pack for an elemental sphere.  
>"Come out, I know you're there." The sound of stones skittering over larger rocks echoed through the empty passage. Water unceremoniously dripped onto England's blond hair, causing him to look up.<br>Where he found a fat lot of ceiling. It was awfully dim in the cavernous hallway, and his green eyes struggled to make sense of what could be cracks or threats. The tracking spell warmed up, a slight red glow illuminating the floor beneath him. Arthur started walking, eyes flicking in every direction to find that powerful thing on his radar.  
>"<em>You're stepping on my tail, Nation.<em>" Britain froze, and looked down. Suddenly, his feet were no longer below him as the paper-thin tail lifted towards the rocks above. The blond scrambled for a purchase on the dry smooth skin that he had previously been standing on.  
>"W-what are you!" A deep rumbling laugh bounced around the cavernous passageway. England was dumped onto the gritty ground, and he was soon face to face with a paper-thin snake-like creature that could only be a Basilisk. Glowing yellow eyes blinked, confirming the nation's fear.<br>"_You must be the stupidest Earthling that I have ever laid eyes on. This network of caves and caverns will have you spinning in circles unless you have a proper guide. Now, look into my eyes, mortal. I wish to eat you._" Consequently, Britain slammed his eyelids closed. There was no way that he would let some damn monster turn him to stone just to be eaten. Rolling the glass ball in his fingers, Arthur waited for a good moment to blow this papery monster away.  
>"<em>Oh, come now. You're being ridiculous. Can't I just sneak a peek at your eye sockets? It must be hard to get around with them closed like-<em>" England had launched the elemental to one side of the raspy voice, and then had thrown a fire spell to the other side. Either way, the tornado inside the fragile orb broke loose, and sucked both the monster and the flames into its vortex. The blonde had then sealed the whole mess into a rock. Problem solved.  
>"And I'm still lost. Gods damn this ridiculous place!" His tracking spell had long since gone out, due to his lack of concentration. The nation had used a lot of magic since coming to this place, and it was beginning to affect him. Reaching with shaky fingers, the nation got to his feet and tried to set up the tracking spell again. It took him two incantations and a pentagram drawn onto his hand in ink before he was able to get the bloody thing up and running.<br>The familiar red glow spilled over the floor, and the blond followed it down the corridor. The red was already beginning to fade in this hall, and it had only taken about ten to fifteen minutes for him to set the spell up. How long had that basilisk distracted him for? Couldn't have been long. Picking up the pace, and ignoring his fatigue, England walked on.

"Boss, I know you said that Aleister would handle that puddle of goo, but are you sure? He had escaped from your bro-" A loud smack echoed through the craggy cave. "Shut your fat mouth. If he got away, it's because my brother let him. Now move your damn ass so we can warn-" Beauregard stopped speaking now that the sound of footsteps echoed through his ears. _Shit._

Arthur wasn't sure if he could take on the demon and his impling. He was tired and sore and his magic reserves were awfully low at the moment. He couldn't just let the abominable things go, he would never be able to save Faolán if they got away! The poor creature had suffered enough. The blond was determined to save him.  
>"Is this tunnel the way out, or are there more?" The impling stuttered before getting a delicate hand clamped over its mouth.<br>"I'm not telling." The blond demon glared with slitted pupils, "besides, you'll kill us either way." Arthur grimaced, his eyesight blurring for a moment.  
>"Point taken. Hold still or this will be a lot more painful and time consuming than you would care for." Calling up the simplest 'blast-my-demon-foe' spell possible, the nation kept his green eyes on the trembling demons. As the white-hot power gathered in his palm, England was suddenly seeing everything upside down. And he was swaying.<br>"Ah, a trap. I see." The demons high-fived each other, and turned to waltz down the hallway, ranting about how awesome they were. But Britain still had his spell going.  
>"Any last words?" The demons turned, smiles slowly fading to shock.<br>"No? Good." The light flashed even brighter, engulfing the cavern with high-relief light. A severe sizzling sound bounced around the cave walls. Arthur's eyes readjusted as the light faded. Whatever had been holding him to the ceiling loosened its grip on his ankle, and it was a good thing that the nation twisted while falling or he would have had a serious concussion later.  
>As it was, the blond landed heavily on his hands and knees, sending showers of pain up his arms and legs. Now that Beauregard (still a pretty dumb name) was taken care of, the souls that were trapped should be free.<br>England sighed, rolling onto his back. _Do I have enough energy to make it home? _His fingers twitched involuntarily. _Probably not._ Eyelids closed over emerald irises, and soon the world had melted away into a dream about drowning.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a dark and stormy night- _alright, that was too cliche_. The torrential rain fell from the sky like bullets from a sub-machine gun. _Much better._ The ship creaked like broken floorboards, and Captain Kirkland knew that it was going to go down. The ocean tried to suck the damaged vessel into the icy dark water, and the blond turned to face the only person left on the ship.  
>"It was nice knowing you. I wish things could have gone better." He should have expected the punch to the face- he had just conquered the man's armada- but, honestly, with the ship in such a condition he had been hoping for a, "Yeah, me too." <em>Idiot.<em> The mast pinwheeled ominously as England slid across the deck, and under the balustrade, and into the waiting arms of the ocean.  
>It was impossibly cold, and with the way the currents were going, the nation couldn't go up for air. His lungs burned and began to scream for the oxygen that they lacked. Waterlogged clothes were dragging him down, but the blond's numb fingers couldn't get a sure grip on any of the buttons and buckles that were so tightly closed. Arthur forced his eyes open, even though the briny depths stung at the sensitive tissue. <em>Which way was up?<em> Light seemed to filter towards him from everywhere, but beyond that there was nothing. Dark shapes floated around, and Captain Kirkland hoped that they weren't his crew members. As the British Empire, he couldn't die. _But there was never a time before or after that I had wanted so desperately to do so._  
>Arthur sat up in his bed, breathing heavily. That was the seventh time in two days that the dream had occurred. More like a nightmare. He rubbed his face, and noted that the slender fingers were trembling. This was ridiculous. He had only taken one more day to come around, after the second time that nightmare came to him, but Faolán hadn't come back. England wasn't going to admit that he was worried about the mangy bird-thing, but he did want to give his affirmative to the helping idea. The blond didn't know where to begin, or if the place that had been described even existed in this universe, which it probably didn't.<br>Casting the warm blankets aside, the nation got dressed. At three in the morning.  
>"What a great way to start my day," he muttered, not pleased with the fact that sleeping would be impossible right now. Arthur had a meeting with Alfred today, and without the proper amount of sleep that American would get dreadfully annoying. Opting to wear a t-shirt instead of the usual button-down (<em>no<em>, the dream did _not_ get to him), the blond drifted into his study, where he kept all of those large tomes for magic and for work. Had he read about something that could help? Flicking through his mental filing cabinet, the nation felt that he was forgetting something important.  
>Going through all of those books took quite a few hours, and, after abruptly canceling his meeting with Alfred, England knew that he was onto something. There was a demon that stole the souls of people who had done no wrong, and used them as slave labor so that he could live a life of comfort at the expense of these poor unfortunate souls. But then again, there were actually three of those types of demons, all very powerful. Arthur gathered his thoughts, preparing for the undoubtedly crazy amounts of magic that he would need to use to travel to these places, and making a mental checklist of everything that might come in handy. The blond walked around his house, collecting the necessary items- food water and such- and pondering which demonic place to travel to first. The chances of picking the wrong place were not in the country's favor, and he didn't want to be killed right off the bat.<br>With his mind made up, and a small pack of essentials, Britain eyed the pentacle before him and called the relevant spells to mind. Closing his green eyes in order to better concentrate, the blond felt power begin to rush through him as the words of the incantation spilled over his lips. When things had settled back down, Arthur opened his eyes and found that the simple landscape of his study had melted into stiff twigs and rocky ground. Blackened trees jutted towards the sky, seemingly trying to stab the grey mass with their brittle branches. As the sorcerer had expected, there were no sounds or any other sign of life besides the dead trees. Hefting the bag onto his shoulder, England started walking. His boots kicked up dust clouds that swirled around his legs, threatening to make him trip.  
>Using black magic to mask his presence, the man shielded his eyes from the glaring light that seemed to come from the roiling grey clouds that drifted ever closer the farther he went. Making a mental map, Arthur continued on his way, keeping an eye out for the cave in question.<br>Something prickled in his magical peripheral vision, and the nation stilled, waiting for another blip on the radar. A feeling of uneasiness washed over the blond, and the clouds that had been above earlier were suddenly mingling with the dust below his feet. Alarm bells rang in his head as a dark shape unfolded, masked by twisting clouds of fog and faded dust. Vivid, predatory, yellow eyes glowed in the misty surroundings, and a serpentine body unfurled, coils of monster looped across England's field of vision, quickly closing him into a circle of earth. Swinging his pack around, the green-eyed man prepared to face his foe. Spirals of blinding white light formed at Arthur's fingertips, and slowly ran threads up to his elbows.  
>The swirling clouds were swept away by the giant serpent's first attack, which was a wild swing with one of eight tails. Britain dodged the threat easily, and launched a counterattack of white magic. The bolts glanced off of the oily black scales, but they left trails of silver in their wakes. <em>Good, I've drawn blood. Perhaps I can make it out of here ali-<em> That thought was cut short by another tail twining around the man's ankle and whipping him into the air. Double checking that the black bag wasn't spewing objects all over creation, the blond let loose a wave of fire that scorched the ground in a twenty-meter arc, which also included most of the writhing snake-thing. It belched smoke and practically screamed, sound streaming from the ruined scales and spiky mouth. As Arthur neared earth, he felt a warmth spread over his chest, and instead of landing gracefully on his feet, the blond was thrown violently into a tree. Spiny branches broke on contact with his skin, and a strange hissing laughter rose from the steaming reptile.  
>"<em>Ahaha! You sssink that a mere humanoid can defeat me~? How sssilly<em>." The multi-tailed snake slithered closer, tails wrapping around the man's torso again as he struggled to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him by his earlier fall. The strangling feelings of fear and hopelessness rose from his heart and trickled towards his brain. Or that may have been his lunch, seeing as the country was suddenly upside-down.  
>"<em>A ssshame, truly... The massster had been hoping to ussse you in an exsssperiment one day<em>." England's bony fingers scrabbled for a purchase on the slick and bloody surface of the now-quicksilver scales that kept his feet from the ground. Green eyes shot to the messenger bag that was pressed against his side. Within it, there were small glass globes that contained the massive amounts of power that elementals contained. Shaky fingers fumbled with the gods-damned zipper, and as the tails tensed to fling the blond again, his fist clamped around one of the fragile orbs. As the scaly tails let fly, Arthur chucked the transparent ball into the abyss of the serpentine mouth that continued to cackle at the blond's demise.  
>As the country touched ground (albeit on his side and not in any way painlessly or gracefully), the snake-like monster was quickly ripped open by the torrent of wind that erupted from its insides. Trying to make mental notes of injuries, Arthur wiped his silver-coated hands on the surrounding dust piles. <em>Nothing but minor cuts and some bruises. I ought to be more careful...<em> He gently sat up, and quadruple-checked his bag to make sure it was in one piece. Having finished that, Britain sighed, and asked himself again, for quite possibly the eightieth time, why he had decided to rescue the odd bird-man-thing. There was no rational reasoning behind this life-threatening decision.  
>Sighing again, the man stood, and walked straight into Francis.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

He really should have seen this coming. Arthur twisted around mid-air, narrowly avoiding a flaming tail that was desperately trying to gut him. _Well, at least I had the Explosion spell ready when I got through the portal..._ Calling up some more magic, the wizard doused the flaming demon and blasted it to bits._ Two down, two to go. … Where did they g-_ Pensive thoughts were quickly smashed out of the nation's skull as stars spewed across the backs of his darkened eyelids. _Ah. Behind me, then._ Feeling a heavy wetness trickle down the back of his white shirt, Britain scrambled to feet that refused to work properly. The world swam before his eyes, the demons multiplying in frightening numbers and then melding back together in a sickening kaleidoscope of color. Savage grins wavered across the practically dancing, morphing demons' faces. And then the ground seemed to be trying to hit him in the face. And it succeeded as his world, once again, faded to darkness.****

Faolán felt his essence begin to fade around the edges. His soul wasn't going to want to inhabit this ragged and broken body for very much longer. Black eyes formed slits, the surrounding lids far too puffy and bruised to open farther. Even the dim light caused spears of pain to fly through his corneas, and the bird-man quickly closed them again. Torture couldn't even begin to describe what he felt. The dark hair was singed, and from the lightly smoking masses, skin bubbled and stank, blood seeping from damaged pores. Welts rose, stark red against faded black flesh. Once-delicate patterns were disrupted by fresh wounds, copper blood obscuring the lines even more. Each new breath that rattled his ragged lungs hurt worse than the last. Was this what dying felt like? A slight pressure filled the back of his head as another presence entered Faolán's mind.  
>"Hi, Arthur." <em>Are you alright?<em> The bird-man chuckled, a deep, raspy laugh that practically hissed out of his agonized chest.  
>"I've been better. How're things on your end?" <em>Well, I was jumped at the entrance, just like last time, but they didn't take me to the Overlord for once, so I'm in the mines. On my way over right now. Are there any guards around?<em> Fighting to keep his stinging eyes open, the dark-haired man quickly glanced around.  
>"Nah, not at the moment. Can you get out of my head now? I hurt plenty without you taking up space that my brain needs." <em>Sorry. Think you can make it?<em> Faolán took a mental inventory of where his essence was flaking away. The blond's presence faded away.  
>"Don't think so."<p>

Arthur was worried. He had only been with the bird-man for a short period of time, but the guy didn't seem like his normal self. The green-eyed man blew on his fingers, wishing that he had his bag on him. Unfortunately, the demons had made off with it. And destroyed it, unless they had been lying to him when he woke up. Which they might have; demons had a terrible habit of lying.

In any case, England had to get to Faolán before something else happened to the poor man. Rubbing sweat out of his eyes, the nation slipped away from his cell (the only place he was allowed besides the tunnels) and tried to find the way out. It'd be great to know that before he attempted a life-threatening, daring rescue.

It was no use; whenever he got close, the guards sent him back. There were three tunnels where they did that, which could mean three exits, but it could also mean three extremely painful ways to die, and Britain was certainly not interested in those scenarios. He pulled back into the shadows, bumping his still-bleeding head on the rock behind him. Silently cursing and physically doubling over, the blond pressed a shaky hand to the blunt trauma that made his eyes water relentlessly. Of course. Just my bloody luck. Waiting for the pain and nausea to subside, the nation carefully regained his footing, straightening into a standing position. Am I really in any condition to fight? A sideways glance at his dripping hand and he decided that no, he really was in no way to be fighting.

Reviewing his mental map of the surrounding tunnels, Arthur set off in the direction that Faolán was in. The poor man's blip on the blond's mental map was fading in intensity as time wore on, and the nation chewed at his lip. Crossing his fingers, he hoped that things would turn out alright. He had done so much, and tried so hard. Failure was a frightening option, one that would most likely end in blood and gore.

"Hey, you! Only lost causes that way! Work is down this way. Follow me." England glared at the grotesque demon in front of him.

"Excuse me, sir, but I was unaware of what a lost cause was. Could please enlighten me?" While the thing did a terrible job of explaining (why the Hell would a lost cause involve cotton candy for Pete's sake?), the blonde was able to sneak past and get most of the way down the hall before the same demon caught up with him.

"Hey! Slave! I've told you that this is only for-" Arthur cut the slimy guard off by elbowing it in the face, causing silvery blood to ooze from it's nose while the fell over and rolled around on the dusty ground for a few moments. The nation sprinted away, not wanting to mince words or waste his much-needed magic reserves. Following the mental map, Britain was able to find the correct door (only after opening the wrong one resulting in having to incapacitate three more demons and what appeared to be a relatively large insect of sorts). Taking a breath, the blond shoved the bulky stone door open, revealing a limp figure curled up in a cage that was eleven sizes too small.

"H-hey. Faolán?" The nation inched closer, but the bird-man didn't respond.

"You can get up now, I'll get you out of here in a jiffy, alright? Faolán?" England rested a hand on the now obviously lifeless body. It was cold, but the endlessly dark eyes were still open, staring forever at a ceiling that had imprisoned him for years.

Arthur swiped tears of frustration out of his emerald eyes as the back of his head throbbed painfully._ I didn't make it in time. Gods damn it, I shouldn't have loligagged so bloody much!_ There wasn't anything more he could do for Faolán, but he could still get the other souls out. Hopefully alive.


End file.
